Blackhawk's Affair

Jordan Alastair Grant had built an empire keeping one step ahead of the competition and two steps ahead of his past. he'd been rich, he'd been poor, he'd been rich again. Money itself meant little to him. The exclusive cars, the custom built houses, the private company jet-- as far as he was concerned, they were all just props. A means to an end. It was winning that truly made his blood rush. That sharp kick of pleasure deep in his gut when an opponent either threw in the towel or went down for the count. Business was just a game, he'd always thought. Stocks, oil, investments--each transaction, every endeavor, just another roll of the dice, one more playing piece on the board. He had the look of power. Six-foot-four, precision-cut, thick, dark hair, the solid, muscled body of an athlete he kept well-toned with daily workouts into his gym. His face, roughly chiseled and hard-edged, had the ability to intimidate with one razor-sharp glance from his bottle-green eyes, or charm with a simple tilt of his firm, wide mouth. His dark slash of brows, depending on his mood, or his need, could cut an adversary at his knees or make a woman swoon. And if some people might think he was cold and calculating, what did it matter to him? As long as he got what he wanted, he didn't much give a damn what anyone thought. He heard the landing gear lower on the jet and glanced at his Rolex. Right on schedule. "We'll be landing in ten minutes, Mr. Grant." Denise, the stewardess, moved toward him from the galley. An attractive redhead with a dimpled, beauty pageant smile and hazel eyes, she was a temporary replacement for Jordan's permanent flight staff. The past few years he'd traveled more often than he liked, but with offices in Dallas, Lubbock and Houston, not to mention the West Coast affiliate, there hadn't been much choice. At thirty-four, he'd had enough of the daily grind of twelve hour days, seven days a week, most of it spent in board meetings or on a plane. Jordan had put the hours and sweat into his companies and other ventures, made his fortune. he'd enjoyed the challenge of it all when he was younger, but he was ready to move on now--or to be more accurate, he was ready to go back. Back to his roots. Jordan had been raised on Five Corners-- twenty thousand acres of prime East Texas land that included cattle, lumber and oil. Richard Grant, Jordan's father, had been a genteel, socialite Bostonian with connections, but no money. Enter Kitty Turner, Jordan's mother, the daughter of a wealthy rancher with truckloads of money, but no connections. It was a match--merger--made in heaven. But while Richard may have appreciated and enjoyed the money that came with his marriage to Kitty, he detested everything about ranching and living in East Texas. The isolation, the physical labor, the camaraderie of the "good old boys." Richard had considered Five Corners beneath him. Lost in his thoughts, Jordan hadn't realized Denise was still standing beside him, asking him something. He glanced up at the flight attendant, realized she'd asked him if he'd like more coffee. "Thank you, no." She leaned over him to collect his empty cup. "Shall I have the pilot notify your driver?" "Not necessary." The subtle brush of the woman's hand across his arm did not go unnoticed--or the lingering eye contact. "I have a friend picking me up." "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?, He shook his head, watched her turn and slowly saunter away to prepare for landing. He was certain the woman could do many things, but today, he only had one woman on his mind. One with raven hair, sapphire eyes, endless legs. He still remembered the feel of those legs wrapped around his waist. He shrugged off the memory, and the pinch to his pride when those legs had walked out on him. Okay, so maybe it wasMcCauley, Barbara is the author of 'Blackhawk's Affair ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373767908 and ISBN 0373767900.